


We Passed The Setting Sun

by maebmad (maebiwill)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, because i am apparently incapable of making something entirely sad, mostly - Freeform, saw a soulmate prompt and thought hmmm how can i make star wars hurt MORE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 18:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14431221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maebiwill/pseuds/maebmad
Summary: When Anakin is old enough to understand what the words on his arm are supposed to signify, but not quite old enough to read them, he asks his mother.He isn’t old enough to understand the strain of the smile on her face when she tells him, either.Or, the one where your soulmate's last words to you appear on your skin when you are born.





	We Passed The Setting Sun

When Anakin is old enough to understand what the words on his arm are supposed to signify, but not quite old enough to read them, he asks his mother.

He isn’t old enough to understand the strain of the smile on her face when she tells him, either.

“This one,” She explains, pointing at the small, neat script on his right arm. “Is your name. You remember practicing how to write it, right Ani?”

“Yes!” He grins up at her. “They know my name! They know me!”

“Yes, they do.” She cannot help the smile that spreads across her face at her son’s enthusiasm. “They will know who you are, and they will love you nearly as much as I do.”

“How do you know?” Her boy asks, a small furrow between his brows that he is far too young to have.

He is a perceptive child, Shmi knows, and she cannot protect him from everything. He has seen cruelty, he has seen that not every creature is given the same privileges, the same care. He knows, like all slaves do, that being bound to someone -- rendered unable to be separated, unable to escape -- does not always come out of love.

“Because, my child,” She smoothes down the hair that is sticking up from the back of his head, and wishes she could do more, could create a world for him, one without uncertainty or pain. “With your heart and your mind, I cannot imagine a person who knows you, and does not love you. They are bound to your soul, and someone bound to one as beautiful as yours must also be lovely.”

He is quiet for a moment then, legs swinging wildly beneath the table he is perched on, and lips twisted to the side in concentration as he thinks about her words. He must decide them acceptable, because he gives a small hitch of the shoulders that might be a shrug, and shoves his left arm under her nose.

“Do this one, now!” He cries. “Tell me what this one says!”

Now she cannot help that her lips tug into a frown as she regards the words printed in careful letters on the skin, and she tries to ignore the uneasy prickle on her own skin as she says: “‘I loved you.’”

Shmi doesn’t like the way the words sound, how they feel forming on her tongue. She has agonized over these three words for years by the time she says this. On one hand, it means that Anakin will have someone, at some point or another, who loves him. On the other, it also means that it will end, that there will come a time when that person, whoever they are, wherever in the galaxy they are, will stop loving Anakin, and that- that is something that Shmi cannot fathom.

She knows she should be grateful. Not all soulmates are destined for love, the way holos like to show them. Sometimes people shaped another’s life so thoroughly, so completely that their mark is left indelibly on that soul. Sometimes that shaping is not for the better, but the mark is left regardless. 

She has tried to comfort herself, during long, worried nights and long, busy days, that _he will have love, if only for a time_ , and only resolves, in the end, to love him more, to show him that love all the more, during the time she has.

Anakin does not notice the strange little twist on the words she tells him all the time, seems untroubled by the unusual quirk of language, so she says nothing. She watches instead as he hops down from the counter, and buzzes around the room, babbling about this topic or that, and Shmi tries to believe her own words for a moment, tries to picture the other two beautiful souls that have bound themselves to her boy’s.

“Do you think they like podracing?” He has to yell to be heard from the other end of the room.

Shmi lets troubled thoughts fall from her mind, and laughs. “I’m sure they do, Ani.”

 

* * *

 

When Anakin meets her for the first time, he knows she has to be his soulmate. She’s an angel who has decided to walk down on the sand like the rest of them, and whether or not her own soul is bound back, his has latched onto her, and if she leaves now, it will spend the rest of his life searching for her, reaching out desperately to feel the light and warmth that surrounds her. 

She doesn’t seem to know she’s an angel, but he tries to tell her.

When she leaves, she tells him her name. He’s nine, and knows how to read very well now, so he knows _Padme Naberrie_ isn’t written anywhere on his skin. If she is one of his soulmates -- and he knows she is -- this will not be the last time he sees her, and that will not be the last thing she says to him.

 

* * *

 

Shmi does not like the Jedi who comes into their home. The girl is young and naive about the less tidy parts of the galaxy, but with a good heart beneath it all. The Jedi though… He seems very intent on his own interests, and whatever means will fulfill them.

She grits her teeth as Ani gets into the pod, and tells herself Watto would be forcing him to race regardless, that she would be here and fretting regardless of whatever trouble Anakin’s heart had decided to pull him into.

But then he has won, and he is free, and Shmi didn’t know a heart could feel so light, and ache so terribly at the same time, but hers does. Anakin is free, he can go, can leave her and this life and do something greater, but he will still be _going_ , will be leaving her behind.

He will be a Jedi, and looking at the tall, solemn man who tells her this, Shmi feels sharp, dark dread settle in her stomach beside the desperate joy and hope. She knows enough about the Jedi to know that they sit by while slavery continues, to know that Anakin’s large, wonderful heart will only hurt him. But she also knows that he and his large, wonderful heart will not be shackled down, will not be owned again by any other than himself, and so she cannot bring herself to protest, to let her hope be consumed. 

When the tearful goodbyes come, she tells him to not look back, and he tells her he loves her.

She smiles through her tears because she knows he does, and something in her chest unclenches, relaxes and lets her breathe, because the words _I love you so much_ are not written anywhere on her body. Shmi has only one soulmark, and she already knows who the one person in the galaxy is that her soul has decided she belongs with, belongs to.

She watches him leave, and knows this will not be the last time she will see him. She clutches her arm to her chest, feels the press of her words against the beat of her heart, and she also knows the last thing he will say to her will be a lie.

 

* * *

  

Qui-Gon is dead, Padme is gone, his mother is still a slave back at his home, and Anakin isn’t sure he’ll ever feel alright again. 

He will be a Jedi, though. Obi-Wan has promised him, and Obi-Wan doesn’t like him, so he has no reason to lie. Even if it were only because Qui-Gon asked him, Obi-Wan will train Anakin, and that’s enough for now. Anakin has a purpose -- he just needs to become the best Jedi the Order has ever seen. Then Obi-Wan will like him, and the Council will see they were wrong, and he can go back and save his mother.

Besides, he has another soulmate out there somewhere, and he knows he will see Padme again, someday. The future is not empty, even if the past is.

So, yes, Anakin knows what he has to do.

 

* * *

 

Jedi do not talk about soulmarks. Not everyone in the galaxy has them, and Jedi are not allowed attachment -- something he is reminded of nearly every minute of his life once he begins his training -- so there is no need to acknowledge that they even exist.

They are something younglings whisper about, pulling up sleeves to compare words and tease each other about, but it is something to grow out of, like old robes or shoes that become too small.

Anakin can’t help how wrong this feels. The marks aren’t as important on Tatooine as they seem to be some places in the galaxy, but they were cherished and celebrated. They meant that, no matter how or to whom, you belonged somewhere. For slaves, sometimes all this meant was that you could belong in someone’s heart, but it was more than enough for people who had nothing else to give. 

Marks meant something back home. They did not, apparently, to the Jedi.

Anakin asks Master Yoda about them once, and the narrowed eyes the old Master levels at him -- like he is judging the very essence of who Anakin is and finding him wanting -- makes him want to go back to pretending to meditate.

Surprisingly, though, after a time, Yoda answers. “Connected to every soul through the Force we are. Skin and muscle and bone, hmm? Matter little, they do. Souls, we are. Words on skin? Nothing we do not already know, they tell us. Connected to all, we are, and favor one over another, we do not.” 

Anakin thinks he understands, and doesn’t ask anything more. Not to Yoda, at least.

He doesn’t ask Obi-Wan about soulmarks for years, either. It never crosses his mind to ask his Master about his soul mark, until it suddenly feels like the most important thing in the world.

 

* * *

 

They’re on a mission -- something dull and political and exactly the sort of thing Obi-Wan will insist he pay attention to -- but as they walk together down the corridor that will bring them to the State room, Obi-Wan laughs at something Anakin says. Anakin forgets what it was he had said, because Obi-Wan’s laugh, unrestrained and startled out of him like this is rare as it is captivating, and the hair that he’s been growing out since becoming a knight flops over his forehead. He looks less controlled like this, less untouchable and perfect, and somehow even more hypnotic for it. 

Obi-Wan is a hero. He’s the greatest knight the Order has, and the most accomplished for his age in centuries. He’s brave and kind and everything a Jedi should be, everything that Anakin isn’t. Anakin sometimes feels like he doesn’t deserve him, like he’ll never be good enough or measure up and become worthy of someone like Obi-Wan, but he still thanks all his lucky stars and Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan was forced to take him on.

Because every so often something like this -- some little, insignificant moment -- will happen, and Anakin gets to think: _that’s_ my _Master. He’s mine._ And even if he doesn’t deserve it, it’s true.

“ _An_ akin.” Obi-Wan chides -- Anakin vaguely recalls that the joke might have been at the expense of one of their ruder escorts -- but his voice is more amused than disapproving, so he revels a little in it, in the very particular way Obi-Wan says his name, stretching the first syllable out and letting his Coruscanti lilt color the rest.

Nobody else says Anakin’s name quite the same way Obi-Wan does. He’s heard it said tinged with frustration or disapproval from other Masters, but it’s generally ‘Skywalker’ or ‘Padawan’ to them. When Obi-Wan is frustrated with or disapproving of him, there’s always a layer of something else beneath it, though -- something Anakin dares, on his bravest of days, to think might be fondness, or, at the very least, indulgence.

“ _Ma_ ster.” He mimics, grinning over and maybe a bit down, because he’s been growing quickly much to Obi-Wan’s consternation.

And then they are entering the State room, and Anakin nearly stumbles as the thought washes over him.

Anakin isn’t quite sure what triggers it in his mind. It could have been any number of things: his right arm brushing against the door frame as they cross the threshold, the ringing of Obi-Wan’s voice still in his mind as they settle back into a serious demeanor, or the creeping ink of alien letters across the skin that can be seen beyond the Minister’s sleeve.

Anakin isn’t sure what it really is, but his thoughts fly down to his own arm, to his name scrawled in black letters from the elbow down to the wrist, and the breath is nearly knocked from his lungs, because _how had he never thought of that before?_  

At the startled little huff of air, Obi-Wan throws a look to him before they continue forward and kneel before the Minister. Anakin is alright with this, because his knees feel oddly ready to give out beneath him, so he gratefully sinks to the ground and tries not to think about his mark, about what it would mean. He tries not to hear Obi-Wan’s voice saying his name, tries not to think of how well the sound of it matches the curl of letters.

He only manages to keep himself from bursting out until they are back in their quarters that night.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asks, long-suffering, and having obviously realized that Anakin’s mind was occupied on something that was distinctly not their mission.

“Do you have a soulmark, Obi-Wan?” The words were there, hanging between them, before Anakin could give them a second thought, and consider how terrible they might be.

Obi-Wan blinks at him, startled, and then blinks a few more times for posterity. “ _What_?”

“Uh, I mean-” Anakin winces, suddenly much more conscious of how this discussion might sound. “I mean, yeah. Do you have any soulmarks?”

This doesn’t appear to clear anything up for Obi-Wan, because he continues to stare at Anakin, utterly bewildered.

“The people here,” Anakin rushes to say. “It’s just, uh, they’re very open with them.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies slowly, confusion settling into a milder consideration. “They are. I believe their culture treats them as a sign of status in some way or another.”

“Right.” Anakin says, waiting for the answer that seems increasingly likely to never come. “But, uh, do you have one? I know Jedi don’t really talk about them, but I- it just feels like something I should know, and I don’t.”

Obi-Wan appears to understand this even less, which is fair, because Anakin doesn’t really understand it himself. He doesn’t even know why he wants to know so terribly, and it’s not like it would help him know who it is.

Obi-Wan sighs, and clenches a hand over his right forearm. “I do. One.”

Anakin nearly flinches, because that is not Obi-Wan’s normal voice. It’s not calm or deep or playful or soothing, it’s twisted and wretched and unbearably sad. Anakin feels the words like a stab in his gut, hears the poorly-disguised pain in Obi-Wan’s voice like a hand clenching around his throat, and wonders what could possibly make his Master sound like that.

Anakin does not ask Obi-Wan what his words say.

 

* * *

  

Obi-Wan grew up in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, which means he never puts much stake in soulmarks. Or this is what he likes to tell himself, because even he cannot stop the ridiculous jolt of self-pity that fills him whenever he thinks of them. 

_I hate you_ , etched into his skin. It was only fair, Obi-Wan supposed, that the person meant to be closest to him, to his mind and heart and soul, would despise him. He tries to be affable, to be kind and stately the way Jedi are meant to, but he knows that, deep down, there is not much there to engender goodwill.

Obi-Wan let his Master die, barely became his Padawan in the first place. He has failed himself and others at nearly every turn.

Later, someday in the future, Anakin will ask Obi-Wan what he thinks he is meant for, and Obi-Wan will tell Anakin that he is destined for infinite sadness. He will not tell Anakin that most of that sadness is well deserved.

But that comes later, and for now, it’s okay -- Obi-Wan is a Jedi, and Jedi have no need for soulmarks, so it doesn’t matter what it says. Or at least, that is what he tells himself.

 

* * *

 

Anakin does not see Padme again for ten years after they parted, but when he does, he knows he was right all those years ago. His entire body, his entire being simply vibrates with _it’s her, she’s the one_ , and he can’t find a single reason to think it wrong. She’s gorgeous and intelligent and kind, and he can’t have her. 

He wants anyways, and it terrifies him. It terrifies him, but not enough to drive him away.

How could he have ever thought Obi-Wan possibly a soulmate? Obi-Wan was critical and hesitant, and he didn’t understand Anakin.

But Padme… He kisses Padme and it feels like the birth of the galaxy behind his eyelids. It feels like stars are lit and grow and die in the spaces of a breath, turning supernova on his lips and leaving them tingling

“You are in my very soul.” He tells Padme later, and he believes it, and he knows she hears the meaning behind it, because her eyes flash dangerously. “If you are suffering as I am, tell me.”

_If you feel this too, feel our entire selves stretching for even the slightest touch of each other, tell me._

“I can’t.” She says, and neither of them believe her.

 

* * *

 

While all of this happens, Shmi Skywalker has a life. She is bought by a man who is convinced he loves her, and he is kind, so she marries him. She gives him as much love as she can afford to anyone, and she waits to introduce Cliegg to her son, because she knows she will see him again, someday, and truly, there is only one person her soul could ever be bound to in such a way. 

She begins to think, a week into captivity at the hands of Tusken Raiders, that somehow, the universe was wrong. It made a mistake somewhere, and she will never see Anakin again, and he will never say those words to her.

Two weeks later, she is resigned to this idea, that her time has been cut too short and she will not see Anakin again, regardless of plans of the universe. She comforts herself with the thought of death soon, and would almost be happy to go with it, if not for that last taste of bitter devastation, of a last chance with her boy, lost to time she did not have.

But then he’s there, holding her, and Shmi cries. She cries because, yes, this was all she needed. This was all she wanted, and she sends a silent prayer to the universe, to everything that bound them together, thanking it for giving him to her, for letting her have him one last time.

“Now I am complete.” She says, and it’s true. Every piece of her soul is there, and she feels the ringing harmony of it around her a way she hasn’t for ten years.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” He says, and Shmi smiles up at him, reaches a hand up to stroke his face, because that right there is what she has been waiting for. It feels like his blessing, like permission to let herself go.

Shmi was born with the words _Everything’s going to be fine_ on her arm, and she’d known, even as a girl, that it would be a lie. They could be final words, or they could be true, but they could not be both.

And yet, here with her son again, so grown up and strong and loving, she thinks that, maybe, she was wrong about that too. They certainly feel like the truth. She will die, let the arms of death envelope her like those of her son, and she will no longer feel any pain. She will die happy having seen him one last time, and he will know she is free, so he can go on to become every magnificent thing she knows he is destined for.

“I lo-” She tries to say, tries to tell him one last time, but though, or perhaps because, the universe has given her so much already, it does not allow her this.

The last thing Shmi sees is Anakin’s face, and for her, that is enough.

* * *

 

Anakin kills them all. He slaughters them like animals, and he knows he should feel bad, but he doesn’t. Even after he realizes what he has done, all he can feel for them is hatred, and that makes him feel bad. 

He expects Padme to turn away, to leave him and go back to Naboo and let him be expelled from the Jedi. He would understand if she did, it is no more than he deserves -- to be left back on this barren planet with nowhere to go and no one to go to.

But she doesn’t.

Anakin is more certain than ever that she is his soulmate, that she understands him like no other.

He wonders, for a moment, if his mother is the other one. He wonders if she’d been trying to say _I loved you_ , and the universe finished for him what she could not.

Either way, it doesn’t matter now. She’s gone, and Padme’s here, and they have to go save Obi-Wan.

* * *

 

They are about to die, and Padme tells him. 

His mother is dead, and Obi-Wan is about to be killed and so are they and he feels nine-years-old again -- losing everything and having already lost it all at once.

But Padme tells him she loves him, and it feels like pure light washing over him

They kiss again, and it feels like flowers should sprout at their feet, like life follows wherever they are, and fades wherever they have left.

Anakin says he will spend the rest of his life with her. It likely won’t be all that long anyways, but he means it.

 

* * *

  

Obi-Wan isn’t dead yet. He is there with them, on the back of a creature and surrounded, and Anakin feels, just for a moment, complete. 

Then he remembers his mother saying the same thing, and he’s brought back down, the feel of metal heavy around his wrists, and the knowledge of their imminent death sobering outlandish thoughts like that. 

His mother had been his other soulmate, surely, not Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan has never understood him, hardly does anything but chastise him for everything he does. They are not the same, they are not halves of a whole, not even thirds of a whole.

And then the Jedi come.

 

* * *

  

There is a war. There isn’t much to say about it beyond that. 

There is fighting with Obi-Wan at his back, and Anakin begins to think again, _maybe_. Because on the battlefield, back to back, it is like they were born for this, made for this, made for each other.

He never can be sure, though. And it doesn’t matter anyways, that arm and his mark are gone. He wonders occasionally what that means for his soulmate and him. But Jedi do not worry, so he puts it from his mind.

He has to leave his wife behind more often than not, but he feels her love across the stars, and knows he can go home to her.

In the meantime, he eats rations with his men and with Obi-Wan, and feels like, in a way, he belongs.

 

* * *

  

They save the Chancellor. Dooku is dead. The end of the war is in sight. It’s everything he could have wanted. 

Anakin cannot find it in himself to be happy, not when he is dreaming again. Not when the last ones were real, and these ones might become so.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Padme. She is entwined with him so completely, that he thinks she would take most of him with her.

He is put on the council, but they don’t trust him. They don’t trust him, even as they ask him to betray another’s trust, and he can feel bile rise in his mouth each time he thinks of it.

And Obi-Wan is gone again, sent on a mission that should either be Anakin’s or both of theirs.

 So Anakin is left partially empty, fearing it will become entirely, and not ready to face what might become of him then.

 The Chancellor knows how he could stop this, though. Chancellor Palpatine has always been a friend, and he knows how to help Padme.

 

* * *

 

Anakin feels himself die the moment he cuts off Mace Windu’s hand. He was destined to become a Jedi, and he had, and now he had thrown that away in one panicked motion, and he wonders what kind of life exists for people once their destiny has come and passed.

Anakin knows the answer: there is no life for them. There is no life for him. He is already dead.

But there still could be a life for Padme. He can still save her, if only he has the power, if only he gets the power to do so.

 

* * *

 

It is not Anakin who marches up the Temple steps, it is Vader. 

If he had taken the time to look, he would see that the words that could have been seen on his arms for the last twenty three years of his life are gone. Instead, in their place on his right, there could have been found six entirely different words as their replacement.

They are said by someone else too. Who else’ words could be found on Vader’s skin than that of the man who had moulded him, had shaped him from the age of nine, created Vader from his very hands and being? If most people’s souls are marked with the others that become essential to them, Vader’s is signed, practically autographed, because there is no part of him that is not the direct result of Sidious, and so it makes sense he would have his words. It would make sense, if he looked to see what they were, if he knew to look at all.

Vader does not look, though. He has no reason to. He does what he came there to do, and he feels nothing.

 

* * *

 

Vader sees the ship land on Mustafar, but it is Anakin who runs to see Padme. It is Anakin who touches her, and begs her to understand, and it is Anakin who wants desperately to go with her, to take her ship and flee together. 

Vader rages and screams. Vader knows that it is Obi-Wan who has done this.

It is Anakin who says “You have brought him here to kill me.” with fear and despair and despondency. It is Vader who turns it into rage.

It is Anakin who remembers late nights, tracing those words into her arm, wondering under what circumstances he could possibly say that to her. It is Vader who chokes her, because even _she_ doesn’t understand, and she is not Vader’s soulmate, so he doesn’t have to care.

Anakin wants to scream, to cry, because he’s said his words, and now she says his name. Now, after all this time -- after how many times she said it filled with love, and joy, and surprise -- she cries out _Anakin_ , and it is desperate and frightened and sad.

Anakin knows this is the last thing she will say to him. Vader does not care, and when Obi-Wan steps forward, Vader is the one who seethes, who pictures cutting this man down with a single blow, or maybe with many to make sure it lasts.

Anakin is still looking at Padme. She’s still alive, still breathing, but either she is lost, he is, or they both are, because they will never again say a single word to each other.

Anakin thinks _I’m sorry,_ and _I love you_ , anyways. It is all he can do.

When Vader rages, Anakin lets him. Vader is strong and newly born and angry and he wants to burn everything down. Anakin is empty, he is hollowed to the bone, to the soul, and has no energy or will to do anything but let him.

 

* * *

  

It is only pain that brings Anakin back to himself. It is the pain in his legs and his arms and the burning heat against his chest and his face, but more than anything it is the the anguish with which Obi-Wan roars at him.

“ _I hate you!”_ It is Anakin screaming, but they are Vader’s words.

And then it is Vader burning with Anakin’s tears on his cheeks.

And then it is Anakin in pain, skin charring and burning away and it is Vader’s body turning to ash, but it is Anakin who hears Obi-Wan’s cry.

“ _I loved you!”_

And in between the burning and the agony and the regret, he has a single, startling moment to think _oh, it_ was _you_.

It is all he has time to think, and then Anakin is gone again, Vader in his place. Anakin does not return. 

When Obi-Wan walks up the obsidian banks of Mustafar, he does not leave Anakin behind. He leaves Vader, alone, and charred, and empty. That does not make it any easier to do.

 

* * *

  

Obi-Wan has enough of himself left to stumble away, Anakin’s lightsaber clutched in his hand. He has enough of himself to make his way back to the platform, to make his way inside the ship, and to tell C-3PO where to take them. And then, Obi-Wan has nothing of himself left to give. He has nothing, and he lets himself sink into the pilot’s seat. 

He feels the throb of his pulse in his wrist, feels how it echoes up through his arm into his chest, thinks about the words there -- the ones he never told Anakin about, the ones he never let himself dwell on before-- and suddenly it’s too much. There is too much, and all of it at once.

Obi-Wan clutches at his arm and he sobs.

Obi-Wan scratches at the skin and he screams.

He wants the words gone, wants the reminder of everything he has lost to disappear, to not be branded onto him for the rest of his life. He feels the absence of Anakin everywhere -- in the air, in the space beside him, in the hum of engines, in the Force, in every vibrating particle of his soul.

_He is gone_ . It seems to sing, mocking in his ear _. And you never let yourself have him in the first place, even though he was yours to have._

Obi-Wan sobs again. He sobs, and sobs, and he doesn’t stop for a very, very long time.

 

* * *

  

Padme dies, leaving two beautiful children behind. The girl has two marks on her, small and indecipherable with how young she is. The boy has more marks on his body than Obi-Wan wishes to think of. He doesn’t want to think about marks at all right now.

He can’t help but viciously wishing they had both been born blank, clean slates for the universe to write its suffering on, rather than having some of it already scripted on their skin. 

Maybe this is part of why he lets Bail take the girl. Maybe this is part of why he stays on Tatooine, and does not just leave the boy in the hands of Owen and Beru.

Obi-Wan has seen Luke’s marks, if not what they say, and anyone whose soul reaches out so far, clings to so many… anyone like that could use someone to watch over them.

Obi-Wan will make sure Luke grows up, and he will make sure he grows up safe and happy. It is the least he can do for Anakin and Padme, since he had failed them both as he did with everyone, and could not give them more than that when they were alive to have it.

 

* * *

 

Vader is halfway across the galaxy, being encased in metal and plastic that will keep him living barely a shadow of a life. 

Two children have been born into the world, so Vader no longer has only one soulmark, but two -- the same one from before, and another. Neither of the words from them will be said for twenty-three years, and Vader will never know they are there, regardless, as he hardly has skin for words to appear on anyways.

Still, someday, a boy will ask for help, and Vader will die.

Anakin Skywalker will return to the world, a third soulmark blossoming onto skin that will never be seen, and its words will be said only moments after.

A boy will sit next to Anakin and tell him _I won’t leave you_ , and he will have told the truth. The boy will stay there until Anakin is dead.

Anakin Skywalker will burn again, and this time, the fire will feel clean. 

Ghosts, beings of pure energy, do not have soulmarks. But Anakin will no longer need words to tell him where he belongs. He will stand beside Obi-Wan, he will feel Padme and her energy encompass every inch of them, and he will watch his son walk away from him, happy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Haha sorry to everyone out there reading my other stories right now, but those got put on the back burner for a few hours because this idea got a hold of me and would not let go :))) lmao I'm just happy I didn't turn this into a 40 chapter, decades-spanning au, as is my tendency  
> Also yeah, these 14 pages literally happened over the course of 4 hours, so if there are any typos/mistakes, that's why. Let me know, and I can go back and fix them XD  
> Thank you for reading!!!!
> 
> Title from the poem Because I Could Not Stop For Death by Emily Dickinson
> 
> EDIT 11/27/18: I changed the formatting so it didn't look as odd, removed the extra space between paragraphs so it fit with the more standard spacing of fic here on ao3 (and with the rest of my fics lmao what even is consistency)


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